


Bilbo Baggins, West-Farthing Scotch, and the Forty-Year-Old Sleeping Bag

by TheWritingMagi



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bilbo Baggins & Bofur Friendship, Dwalin & Thorin Oakenshield Friendship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Poor Bilbo, School Reunion, Secret Crush, Thorin Is an Idiot, the company is tired of bilbo and thorin avoiding each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:13:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingMagi/pseuds/TheWritingMagi
Summary: When Bilbo's former classmate and the fearless leader of the once close Company invites the old gang back together for a reunion, Bilbo isn't entirely sure he wants to be in the same house as Thorin Durin for more than a few hours, let alone a whole weekend. But he hardly has a say when Bofur all but kidnaps him and they inevitably arrive in front of the Durin family home.He'll just have to deal with it then. Don't look at him, don't talk to him, and by Eru,do not be alone with him.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 7
Kudos: 57





	Bilbo Baggins, West-Farthing Scotch, and the Forty-Year-Old Sleeping Bag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike One: Don't look at him.

_It has come to my attention that it has been an entire twenty years since we were all in the same place at the same time. I'm disappointed! And I think it's time to change that!_

_I expect you all here (2750 Erebor Rd, Rhovanion) on the 25th of April for a proper reunion. Stay as long as you like, but all I ask is that you bring yourselves, refreshments (read: alcohol), and your own sleeping arrangements._

_No excuses!_

_Yours, TD_

Leave it to Thorin to sign his name like the pompous arsehole he was.

Rolling his eyes, Bilbo deleted the email and took another sip of his tea.

* * *

“You’re not going?!”

“Of course not,” Bilbo said matter-of-factly. “Why on earth would I?”

Bofur blanched at this, looking absolutely aghast at Bilbo’s firm declaration. “But you’re part of the Company! It wouldn’t be the same without you!”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. We both know I hardly fit in with the group in college and it was only because of you I stuck it out at all those gatherings.” That wasn’t true at all, but Bilbo wasn’t about to say that.

The pub waitress arrived with their pints, blessedly giving Bilbo an excuse to look at something other than Bofur’s incredibly disappointed face. When he finished just about half in one go, however, Bofur’s continued silence made him look up again.

True to classic Bofur fashion when he didn’t get his way, and something Bilbo had suffered for close to twenty-five years, Bofur gave him the most agonizingly sorrowful look. His eyes were cast downward, mouth set in a tight line under his boisterous mustache, and anyone who didn’t know the silly man as well as Bilbo would have sworn Bofur was about to start weeping like a child.

“Making that face isn’t going to change my mind,” Bilbo stated dryly. “That only works on your brother these days.”

Bofur gave up with a dramatic throwing of his hands and the merry crinkling of his eyes returned. “I’m telling you, everyone is going to miss you!” When Bilbo pointedly ignored him while continuing to nurse his beer, his friend finally sighed. “Will you tell me why? And not your bull-shit ‘nobody wants me there’ excuse: I want the real reason.”

But Bofur knew the real reason. He just wanted _Bilbo_ to admit it, which Bilbo was less than willing to do. He’d rather shoot himself point-blank in the foot or suffer anaphylactic shock from his allergies than admit the truth. He hadn’t admitted the truth in twenty years and he wasn’t going to start now.

“I’m not going, end of story,” he finally said. The finality of his voice brooked no argument, to which Bofur thankfully acknowledged, and the evening continued without so much as a word of the Company’s impending reunion.

Bilbo should have expected that Bofur wouldn’t give up so easily.

* * *

Once upon a time, _many_ years ago, Bofur had managed to convince his dry and reserved college roommate to play cards with him.

It had involved a bet, obviously. Clearly there had been no other way with that freshman education major, his narrowed eyes constantly scrutinizing from behind his glasses. Bofur, fresh out of high school, was unfortunate enough to think he had to be friends with _everyone,_ and mister education major wasn’t going to be any different.

The bet was simple: if Bilbo Baggins, or mister education, won the most rounds out of five, Bofur would do both their dishes and laundry for a month. He had contemplated a week, maybe two weeks, but Baggins seemed perfectly content to do his own chores. _Happy_ even. So a month it had to be.

On the other hand, if Bofur won the most rounds, Baggins had to answer any questions Bofur had about him.

Baggins immediately refused to do that and after lengthy debate, they agreed on exactly _three_ questions that Baggins was comfortable with answering. And that was good enough for Bofur.

The two had hardly spoken in the two months they had been lodged together, regardless of Bofur’s commendable effort to strike up conversation at every turn. Baggins just didn’t want conversation, period, and was a master of shutting them down before they even started. Bofur was not to be deterred though. He had made some friends, which was easy enough at such a large university like Imladris, but he wanted _this_ one specifically. He had a gut feeling that Baggins was far more interesting than he was letting on.

Much to Bofur’s displeasure though, Baggins took the first two rounds with ease. It surprised him to some extent, how adept and strategic his roommate actually was, how his poker face was impeccable, and how he so casually sat back in that armchair he had brought with him from home.

It was _excellent._ Bofur was determined to win, just to pry back a few layers from mister education major.

So they kept at it, and as Bofur won his second round in a row, he didn’t try to hide his toothy grin as Baggins sniffed and leaned forward in his armchair. When he took the final round, he certainly felt like celebrating.

Baggins stared for a solid thirty seconds at the coffee table between them, examining the cards with the same scrutiny he had watched Bofur’s every move with the past two months. Then he looked up and met Bofur’s gaze, and Bofur was delighted to find a spark of amusement in his eyes.

“Well played,” Baggins said, nodding as he sat back once more. “Alright, let's get this over with.”

Bofur didn’t waste any time. “Why did you bring that armchair with you?”

That surprised Baggins. “ _That’s_ what you want to know? Not my hobbies or my favourite colour or something else more practical?”

“You gave me three questions.” His grin never faltered. “I ain’t wasting them on your _favourite colour.”_

Baggins shrugged his shoulders. “Point taken. It was my Dad’s back in the day, before he died. It’s also _very_ comfortable, I might add. Couldn’t leave home without it.”

It was a sparse answer, but it started to paint more of a picture for Bofur. “Why education?” he continued, eager to see what else he could learn.

This one was more expected. “I grew up with lots of younger cousins and became pretty good with kids and teaching. It just made sense, I suppose.”

Bofur nodded, very happy with that answer, then said, “And what _is_ your favourite colour?”

Baggins snorted and Bofur was graced with the first smile he had ever seen on Baggins’ face. “Blue, if you must know.”

And that, to the surprise of both, was the beginning of a twenty-five year long absurd friendship.

* * *

April 25th arrived and went on as any other day.

Bilbo wished he could say that he had forgotten about the reunion completely, that it had faded into the recesses of his mind so he could focus on more important things going on in his life. The spring rains in Eriador had finally arrived and it was all he could do to get the remainder of his garden planted and weeded on the few sunny days there were. He had planned out the beds down to the inch, from the butternut squash all the way to the tulips, and no rain was going to put him off from getting them perfect. At the elementary school where he worked, the annual field trips were starting to take place, yet another thing that demanded tedious planning and preparation on his part. As well, he had finally broken free of his most recent stint of writer’s block and had managed to outline a good chunk of the middle of his novel.

All in all, Bilbo was quite busy, busy enough that the damned reunion should have disappeared from his thoughts entirely.

And yet.

At about 4 o’clock that day, Bilbo shuffled his papers together and collected his things before bidding the few other teachers still at the school a good night. It was a Thursday, April 25th, with a school closure the next day to look forward to. Tonight, though, he planned to break open his oldest bottle of West-Farthing scotch and drink his feelings away in the comfort of 1 Bagshot Row.

But, of course, Bofur had not given up so easily, and there he was, _parked,_ in front of 1 Bagshot Row.

Bilbo stood there for a moment, watching as Bofur noticed him and gleefully waved out the window of his car from Bilbo’s driveway. He had some options: number one, make a run for the back of the house and lock himself in with the hope that Bofur would eventually head off alone to Rhovanion; number two, make a run for _Hamfast’s_ back down the road with the hope his neighbour would be willing to put him up until Bofur left; or number three, and Bilbo _did not_ like number three.

Oh, what the hell.

With a great sigh and a hand running over his face, Bilbo resigned himself to his fate and marched up his driveway.

* * *

“There’s going to be beer, right?”

Bilbo could practically hear Nori roll his eyes. “It’s _Dwalin’s_ birthday, of course there’s going to be beer, you dolt.”

“Then I’m in!” Bofur declared enthusiastically, happily stirring away at his cheap ramen. “You going to come, Bilbo?”

He looked up, having pointedly been ignoring the two from where he sat in his armchair by the window. Nori, Bofur’s other closest friend and fellow Business and Management major, sat at their island while Bofur was burning his ramen on the stove. Nori hadn’t come over often during first year, mostly because of space constraints in Bilbo and Bofur’s horrendously small room, but he was found in their second year apartment more often than not these days.

“What, so I can be surrounded by strangers all drunk and shoved into one house for several hours?” Bilbo scoffed, looking back down at his laptop. “That doesn’t sound at all appealing to me, thank you very much.”

“Come on!” Bofur whined, finally finding the good sense to take the poor noodles off the stove. Bombur would have been incensed. “You’ve been putting off meeting the guys for so long!” Nori nodded, to which Bilbo shot him a less than pleased look. “Just come this once, then you don’t ever have to again! Sounds good?”

He sighed. He would rather be finishing his school work and studying, but midterms _had_ just finished the past week. He didn’t have much of an excuse other than _that sounds like it’s going to be awful, count me out._ But that was rude, and Bilbo detested being rude. Mostly. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible to unwind for just one night.

“Fine,” he begrudgingly said, “but just this once!”

Bofur and Nori cheered nonetheless.

* * *

The drive from Eriador to Rhovanion wasn’t particularly long, maybe three and a half hours at most. Bofur, however, drove like a man possessed and boasted being able to knock the drive down to two hours and fifteen minutes, give or take. Bilbo didn’t doubt that: he had seen Bofur make the hour and a half drive from Imladris University to his little neighbourhood of Belegost in forty-five minutes. That had honestly been a horrifying experience the first time, especially with Bombur and Bifur in tow the whole way.

“They left yesterday,” Bofur explained when Bilbo wondered aloud why his brother and cousin hadn’t joined them on the road trip. “Bifur had to convince his ex to take Bósi for the weekend, but it looks like the man didn’t put up too much of a fuss. Bombur’s wife is off at her sister’s, or else she would have taken the rascal.”

Bósi, Bifur’s fifteen year old son, was a wild boy with lots to say and lots to do. Bilbo quite liked him, especially since Bifur had insisted on putting him in Hobbiton Elementary School where Bilbo worked. He fit right in with his eccentric family, a fact Bilbo knew very well from experience at their family dinners every month.

“The Durins all still live in Rhovanion,” he went on as if Bilbo had asked. “Glóin’s bringing that son of his—Gimli, remember him? Already eighteen, wowza! Dori and Ori are coming up from Rohan, since they still are both down there.”

“And Dwalin and Nori?”

“They’re in Rhovanion too! Southern bit of the city, in this snazzy little condo. Bilbo, you really should see it!”

That didn’t surprise Bilbo. Twenty years prior, and the last time the Company had all been together, was Dwalin and Nori’s extravagant wedding. Everyone in the Durin family had been present, plus all the family friends and beyond. The elegant hall had been positively overflowing. Bofur had proudly stood at Nori’s side as his Best Man, but had sobbed like a proud mother. Nori had laughed at him the whole way through the reception. From what he had heard and seen in pictures after said wedding, the couple had lived in the same three story condo for the past twenty years with their two bullmastiffs.

“Oh dear,” Bilbo suddenly said. “They’re bringing the dogs, aren’t they?”

Bofur merely laughed.

* * *

The first time he met Thorin, Bilbo was utterly starstruck.

The third year was tall, far taller than Bilbo could ever hope to be, and his shoulders were as broad as they were solid, just like the rest of him. And oh Eru, was he _ever_ solid, if the strained t-shirt he wore was any indication. Under the thick mop of long black hair, hurriedly tied back because of course he was nonchalant and naturally beautiful _dammit,_ he sported bright blue eyes, a sharp nose and a thick stubble on his square jaw, along with cuffs and studs adorning his ears.

Bofur hadn’t wanted Bilbo to meet the guys; he had wanted Bilbo to meet _Thorin._

Thorin was introduced to him as a Pre-Law major planning to head to law school for criminal justice once he got his bachelor's degree. He smiled warmly as Bofur continued on, singing Thorin’s praises like the obvious fan he was. Bilbo can’t stop himself from staring. The man was absolutely _stunning._

Dwalin, the one whose birthday it actually was, looked like he could have been the head of a biker gang. He was even taller than Thorin, if such a thing was possible, with a wavy mohawk atop his head. He also had a number of piercings (not to mention piercing _eyes,_ yeesh) and an even more considerable number of tattoos across his arms and exposed shoulders. He was studying mechanical engineering of all things, much to the surprise of Bilbo, who had come into a conversation about Dwalin’s recent exploits as quarterback of the Imladris football team. The football part certainly made sense, since Dwalin was built more like a redwood than a twenty year old man.

The rest seemed to blend together after that. There was Dwalin’s elder brother Balin (a chemical engineering major, it turned out), the brothers Óin (nursing major) and Glóin (computer science major), then Nori’s two brothers Dori (accounting major) and Ori (Westeron major), and obviously, Bombur and Bifur. Ori and Bilbo thankfully hit it off after introductions were finished, giving Bilbo yet another person to talk to for the duration of the painful night.

Well, not so painful, it turned out.

He got along quite well with the group, even with all their roughhousing and shouting over each other. They all deigned to include the new addition in conversations, demanding to know his opinions on an interesting variety of topics, from football to classes and all the way to politics. They all wanted to know where he was from, why Imladris over the College of the Shire, and so on and so forth. They played terrible games, ate delicious food, and even sang a raucous version of Happy Birthday once the cake was presented to a five-beers-deep Dwalin.

And Bilbo, who didn’t enjoy being surrounded by strangers all drunk and shoved into one house for several hours, found himself beaming like a fool every time Thorin caught his eye.

* * *

Bilbo finally found his courage and pulled himself out of the car once Bofur and him had shared a quick glaring match.

He had been to the Durin family home a few times during summer vacations many years ago, when the Company had all been invited for barbecues and camping, but his memory didn’t seem to do the enormous farmhouse justice. It was a long way North of the Rhovanion city center, off the beaten path and into acreage territory, where neighbours were only off in the distance. The house itself must have been well over a hundred years old by now, built by Thorin’s grandfather, boasting several layers of blue paint across the wooden exterior and a newly-built porch snaking around the foundation. It was a lovely old thing, 2750 Erebor Road, and Bilbo realized he had somewhat missed it.

Not enough to ever come back though.

Bofur made a beeline for the house, dodging a multitude of other cars parked in front of the farmhouse. Bilbo, however, went for his bag instead. Maybe he could slip into the house without the great big greeting awaiting him and Bofur.

He pulled the duffel out of the trunk slowly, then pointedly dragged his feet as he went up the grassy front yard and stared at the ground. He could hear the shouts and happy hellos from the door, and he could almost imagine Bofur being spun around by more than one giddy middle-aged man.

_Don’t look at him, don’t talk to him, don’t be alone with him, and you’ll be fine. You’ll get through this; you’re a Baggins after all. You can do this. You can—_

“It’s good to see you, Bilbo.”

And of course, because he was a complete fool, Bilbo looked up.

Thorin was smiling, his long hair tousled from what could only have been Bofur’s enthusiastic embrace. He stood by the door frame where the others had already gone inside, waiting for him, and just as beautiful as the day Bilbo had last seen him twenty years ago.

Bilbo swallowed and forced his own smile. _Strike one, you idiot._


End file.
